The Prose Dealer
by throughcrimsonstars
Summary: This is were I keep all the fan fictions I write when I receive prompts. They are mostly Whouffaldi related. The title is very loosely inspired by "La petite marchande de prose" by Daniel Pennac.
1. Impossible

_Fan fic request. Twelve confessing his love to Old!Clara, only for Santa to tell him he's still dreaming._

* * *

"Clara Oswald, you'll never look any different to me."

And he knew, right there and then, that he had never spoken truer words in his life.

He just stood there, staring at her, a vision in her paper crown. No one would ever convince him she wasn't the same impossible girl he had always known. The same impossible girl who was always so brave. Always so funny. Always so beautiful. Always just exactly what he needed.

Perfect, in her flaws, in her bad days, in her mistakes.

He still found it hard to get to terms with the fact that he might have lost his chance with Clara. He held her firmly, to help her open a cracker, but he could feel her slowly slipping away and time taking her from him, nonetheless. And once again.

The only idea of listing arriving late for her as one of his many regrets was umbearable.

He sighed, in loss of better things to say, and lifted his head to stare back in those big eyes - those were another thing that would never change and would never stop surprising him.

"I'm sorry. I was stupid. I should have come back earlier. I wish that I had."

Clara looked up at him, speechless for what felt as an eternity.

"I wished it, too, for a very long time."

Those words came out as a whisper, as if she had tried very hard to keep them back, but they hit the Doctor like a loud explosion.

"But, Doctor," Clara added, hinting a smile, "I don't want you to be angry with yourself because you didn't. I'm not. I could never be."

Clara always knew, he should have known. And she would always know what to say.

"Why not?" He asked her "You would have every right to do so."

To his surprise, she laughed. "No Doctor," she shook his head, "You gave me excitement and wonder and more than any one could ever deserve."

"Don't say that," he interjected, angrily. "You deserved so much more, Clara Oswald."

She was still smiling, but, when she spoke again, her eyes showed the determination he had missed so much. "I did still live a full life, you know?"

There she was, the Doctor thought, the same, old Clara. This finally made him smile back.

"It was time for me to make my own adventures. And I did."

He looked softly at her. He felt conflicted, because he knew he had screwed up, once again, yet she still made him feel happy. As if everything was possible.

"I know you did," he answered. "You don't need me, nor the TARDIS, to be special. You've always been special."

He could see her struggling to fight the temptation of crying, but tears managed to make their way through and veil her eyes - somehow making them more beautiful still.

"Well, anyway," she said, after a long pause, loaded with memories and words that had remained untold. Her lips were curled into a sweet smile and the Doctor realized he had made her blush. "There is no resentment. I'm just glad I got the chance to see you, one last time."

He stared at her. "What do you mean?" He asked, confused.

Her eyes widened, seemingly just as confused as he was. She hesitated, not sure what he was asking her. "I'm just saying… I'm happy you found the time to come and visit this old lady one last time, before going back to your TARDIS and flying off, to save worlds or whatever you do when you're alone."

The Doctor didn't say anything for a while, but he eventually understood. Realization dawned on him and he started laughing.

Clara raised her eyebrows, unamused. "What's so funny?"

"Oh Clara. My Clara," he finally said, "I'm not going anywhere."

She blinked in confusion. "You're not going anywhere…?" She repeated, her voice shaking.

His hand took in her own and he stroked her fragile skin with his thumbs, without braking eye contact with her.

"I've already left too many times. It's time for me to stay. This time I'll be right here, until you need me, and you'll bet it won't be easy for you to get rid of me."

Clara seemed speechless. "Why?" was the only thing she could get herself to speak out-loud.

"Why?" He smiled at her softly. She knew him better than anyone before in his life, but she still managed to miss the obvious.

The Doctor reached for her face and cupped her cheek with one hand, while the other continued holding hers.

He felt her leaning into his touch, and relaxing her muscles against his hand. He knew she had completely surrended all defenses and had entrusted herself to him.

"Because, Clara Oswald," he began, his voice slightly trembling, "you are the person I love the most in all the universe."

He was afraid that all the emotions he was feeling in that precise moment - sadness, fear, love… - would overcome him. It was all too much and he wondered whether she felt the same way he did.

"There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you, no pain I wouldn't endure if it meant you were safe, and the Master was right - I would go to Hell and back if it meant I could make you happy."

He watched her blinking furiously, in an obvious attempt to keep back the tears. Without saying a word, she freed one of her hands and moved it so that it was resting on the one he was still using to cup her cheek.

"My impossible girl," the Doctor continued, and she closed her eyes, as if to hear better.

"It sometimes feels to me as if I've loved you all my life," he wanted it for her to sink in completely, so that she could finally understand how much her presence meant for him. How much he had always needed her. "And I think that I probably have. I would give anything to have a second chance. I wish I could have back those sixty-two years I could have had with you."

"Do you, Doctor? How much do you wish that?"

The voice came out of nowhere and the Doctor's hearts started beating hastily in his chest.

It can't be, was the first thought which crossed his mind. And yet, Santa Claus was there, in all his red and white glory, and that could mean only one thing…

"No, I'm not still-"

"Wakey,wakey!"

A second later he woke up, and his mind went straight to Clara.

He hurried back to her with the TARDIS, and, while he used his screwdriver to free her from the Dream Crab's embrace, he begged in his heart for everything to have gone back to normal.

"Doctor, am I young?"

There she was, his Clara, but he still couldn't answer this question. She didn't look any different from when he had left her in the dream. He had to pass her a mirror so she could see for herself.

He waited for the verdict in great trepidation, his hearts beating so fast he couldn't think straight. He counted the seconds of silence with promises he knew he would keep this time - promises about Clara and the times to come and the time he wouldn't waste any more.

"Is that any good?"

"Oh, that is good."

This was all he needed to hear. He didn't let her get out of bed, or even move for that matter, because he hastily crossed the room from where he was standing and held her tight in his arms.

At first, her body was rigid against his own, probably taken aback from that surprise embrace. It wasn't long until she relaxed and her arms hugged him back.

She actually dragged him further into her, and under normal circumstances he probably would have felt suffocated, but all he could focus on was her sweet scent, which confirmed to him she was real and still there and that not everything was lost.

"Did you mean what you said?" She whispered in his ear "Do you still mean it?"

She didn't need to clarify what she was talking about. It was seared into their memory, too fresh for there to be any doubt.

He let go of her and took a step backwards, so he could look at her straight in the eyes.

"Yes, God yes," he croaked, overcomed from all the emotions flooding through him.

Clara grinned at him, and her big, deer eyes reflected his own happiness. She leaned forward and, cupped his cheek with her hands, she gave him a quick and soft kiss on his lips.

"Then what are you waiting for," she said, as she moved away from him, "Lets go."

They looked at each other for a second. Then, he grinned back at her and, without further hesitation, he grabbed her hand and they were off, to a world completely new to the Doctor - one full of hope and possibilities, and where, once in a while, the universe gave second chances.

Before stepping in the TARDIS, the Doctor pulled Clara close and stole another quick kiss from her. She chuckled an inch from his lips and then intertwined her fingers with his own. Then, she pulled him into the time machine and closed the doors behind them with a snap of her fingers.


	2. Cravings

_If you're still taking fic requests, I'd love it if you could write a drabble about pregnant!clara being all fussy about The Doctor buying her what she's craving 3_

* * *

The Doctor was resting his head against Clara's stomach, while she was passing lazily one hand through his hair and holding the book she was reading to the baby with the other.

"Doctor?"

"Mmmm?" he mumbled, trying to focus on the sound of his daughter's hearts beating.

"I want waffles."

"Haven't you put on enough weight already-"  
Clara hit him on the head with her book and started stamping her feet on the floor to shake him off her.

"Waffles. And a banana milkshake. Now. Go."

The Doctor stood up and made his way out of the room, unable to hold back a smile.

"Whatever you say, boss."


	3. Just Another Day in the TARDIS

_Drabble? Please? Doctor being lazy in TARDIS and Clara piloting it like she's been doing it all her life to do the shopping or something. Domestic Tardis fluff_

* * *

"We're you going?"

The Doctor didn't look up from the e-book reader Clara had given him for his birthday, but he could sense her flipping the switches and pressing the buttons of the console.

"I forgot to go and buy milk. The shops are close now and tomorrow I wanted to make you a soufflé."

He hoped she didn't see him roll his eyes, in exasperation. "You can't keep using the TARDIS like this."

"You always say it, but I know you don't mean it."

He didn't reply, but smiled to himself as he slid further into his armchair, comforted by the wheezing, grouning noise the TARDIS made as it landed and by the sound of steps of his impossible girl exiting the room.


	4. First Date

_Hey :) Do you take fic requests? If yes. Could you maybe write a fic right after Last Christmas where the doctor and clara go back to akathen just to watch the golden pyramid and to celebrate their "first date"? That would be so amazing_

* * *

Clara's heart pounded in her chest, as she rested her hands on the console, to the sound of the TARDIS taking off.

_Yes_, she tried to convince herself, _you're back, you're really back_.

Danny was still dead and she and the Doctor still had their problems to deal with, but, all the same, everything felt different. She felt light, for the first time in a very long while, as if a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

The future didn't look so scary any more.

She took a deep breath and smiled at the Doctor, who smiled back at her from the opposite side of the console.

"Where are we going, Doctor?"

"You'll see."

His eyes burnt of an unusual excitement and determination that made her stop questioning him. After all, she didn't care. Wherever he wanted to take her would be fine with her.

What mattered to her, right there and then, was that they were together again. The Doctor and Clara, in the TARDIS, all of time and space to chose from - next stop, everywhere and always.

This thought had a familiar taste to her, and she rolled it in her mind like the lyrics of a song, so to make herself believe that all of that was real.

She still had trouble acknowledging to herself that she was back, and yet she couldn't help but keep on smiling. The smile only degenerated to a wide grin when the TARDIS landed with her usual - and painfully familiar - groan.

The Doctor crossed the room and opened the doors. Then, he turned expectantly towards her.

"Come," he said. "I have something to show you."

Clara started moving slowly, calculating meticulously every step she took toward him.

"What?" She couldn't help but ask, even though the answer to her question lied a mere few feet away, just on the other side of those blue doors.

The expression of content he gave her told her he had been hoping she would ask.

"Something awesome."

Her heart skipped a beat and her mind immediately raced to a memory from what felt like a very long time ago.

She stared at him with wide eyes and understood from the way he was looking back at her that she hadn't misunderstood where they were.

He offered her his hand and she accepted it gladly, thinking back at when he had just regenerated and at how much he had changed since then.

He led her outside and, even though she was expecting it, she sighed in amazement at the sight of the golden pyramid.

It felt like stepping into the past - her own past, her own timeline. She had to be precise when speaking of time travel.

She glanced at the Doctor, without saying a word but holding back another smile she felt growing by biting her lower lip. He wasn't looking at her. His eyes were fixed on the pyramid, but she could tell his attention wasn't. His mind was obviously a long way away and she wondered what he was thinking.

They moved forwards and sat at the edge of the asteroid they had landed on, so to take as much advantage they could from that beautiful view.

They let their legs hang into nothingness, and Clara let them both appreciate that silence - a silence made of warmth and comfort - before she spoke.

"So," she started, looking up at him and waiting for him to look back. "Akathen."

"Yep."

She grinned and and her eyes shined maliciously, before continuing.

"I didn't know you were such a romantic."

His eyes widened, making him look like a big, confused, owl.

"What?" He spat, in a defense. "Me? What? No! Why would you say something like that-"

She watched him gasping like a fish out of water, and this sight made her laugh.

"Well this was our first date, after all."

His response was immediate and it was just as Clara had imagined it would be.

"Our first dat- oh, shut up!"

She could see him blushing against the light of the glowing pyramid, and tat was all the reward she was looking for.

Clara loved teasing him, and she loved the way he reacted. She had always had.

She swung to her left, right against him, pushing him affectionately on his side. He reciprocated, just as gently.

Then, the Doctor turned to stare at her and Clara did the same, so that they were looking in each other's eyes while smiling like perfect idiots.

The silence which fell between them - a comforting silence, the mythical silence that doesn't require words and is often fuller of meaning - this time was broken by the Doctor.

"Last time we came here…"

He left the words hang in the air, because he knew she would understand without further explanation, before continuing: "It felt like a lifetime ago."

"Well, wasn't it, in a way, for you?"

He shrugged. "I suppose so."

"I feel the same way you know?" She said. "I feel like there was a different version of me, that day, even without the regeneration part."

He looked at her, thoughtfully. "Our experiences forge us. We are like hot metal and everything that happens to us, everyday, shapes us in a different person - a little bit at the time. And since millions of thing happen to us everyday you can imagine the consequences."

It wasn't a very optimistic speech, and Clara didn't want that kind of attitude. Not from the Doctor, not there and then. She needed happiness, and hope. Reality isn't an easy place to live in, but means of happiness and hope can always be found - if someone knows how to find them.

"Yes, but even though we change our 'form', it doesn't meant the substance, the true essence, is lost. That one doesn't change."

"Clever clocks," he smiled at her.

She curled her lips in a shy smile. It was quite uncharacteristic of her, but she was still feeling vulnerable. And truth was, she didn't mind to remain like that just a little longer and let someone else take care of her.

"And anyway," she added. "People who stay the same are boring. I like people who change so much they also change their face and personality and yet remain the same in what really counts - their mind and their hearts. Those people are my favorite."

That said, she leaned to her left and rested her head on his shoulder.

The Doctor slid his arm behind her and used it to embrace her. As he held her, she snuggled even more comfortably against his side and sighed, happily.

The way he was wrapping his arm around her made Clara feel perfectly safe and wonderfully content. She knew there wasn't some romantic meaning behind his gesture. She knew it was so much more, because they had always been so much more.

Clara had a vague memory from her astronomy studies back when she was in high school, about the Andromeda-Milky Way collision. The teacher had told them that their galaxy, the Milky Way, and Andromeda were going to meet, in four billions years time, but there would not be one big crash, like you would expect with two cars colliding. The two galaxies would sort of fit together, and form one bigger galaxy.

She was probably getting all the physics wrong. Her memory might had been faulting, it had been a long time ago after all and she had never been great at science at school.

The point was - that was exactly how she felt about her and the Doctor. They were two souls who had met and, against all the odds, together they created something better.

And she promised to herself that, because of all of this, she would never lose him again.


	5. I See You

_The Doctor seems a bit sensitive about looking older this time around I'd love to see a story where someone picks up on the fact that they have feelings for each other, and says some rude things about the age difference. Clara surprises Twelve who expects her to tell the person they're not a couple just good friends, instead Clara kisses him prompting the Doctor to consider that maybe Clara doesn't mind the new older him._

* * *

_To AllonsyIdjits: I'm so, so sorry it took so long. For the last few month I had so much to study I hardly had time to think, let alone write anything. I hope you enjoy and I'll be posting the other prompt real soon. x_

* * *

"Two ice cream cones."

A moment of silence followed, during which the Doctor hesitated, remembered what Clara had told him, and finally added a not very convincing "_Please_."

"What flavor?" asked the chubby man behind the counter.

The Time Lord gave a quick look at the range of possibilities displayed before his eyes. "Chocolate," he said, without any shadow of doubt in his voice. "Lots of chocolate."

The ice-cream man chuckled. "Sure thing, mate," he said amicably.

The Doctor started distractedly rummaging through his bigger-on-the-inside pockets for some change to pay for the ice cream, while looking behind his shoulder in search of Clara. She was exactly where he had left her, laid down on a beach towel, reading a book. It was a beautiful, sunny, day and she had insisted to spend a lazy afternoon in the park. He had pretended not to be keen on that idea at all, that he'd much rather be chased by aliens at the opposite end of the galaxy, but, truth was, he was really keen, indeed.

That thought made him involuntarily smile, and he had been so distracted he hadn't even noticed that his orders were ready.

"It's seems like you're having a nice day," the man said, noticing his grin.

This obvious attempt to make friendly conversation brought the Doctor back to reality. He saw the man holding the ice cream towards him, with a patient smile on his face.

The Doctor nearly jumped. "Oh sorry."

He had already forgotten about the ice creams. He left some money on the counter before taking them carefully in his is hands. "Keep the change."

He was about to leave, when he turned back to face the ice cream man and made no attempt to hide the big smile which was curling the corners of his lips. "Yes, a wonderful day. Thank you."

The happiness vanished from his face only when he noticed Clara wasn't lonely any more. She was talking intently to a little girl with big, dark, eyes and her black hair tide up in two long braids. The Doctor quickened his pace, forgetting once again of the cones he was holding in his hands.

"What book are you reading?" the girl was asking Clara, curiously.

He had stopped just next to the beach towel, as if stubbornly, and a bit childishly, waiting for the little girl to go away and leave Clara for himself. The women looked up and positively beamed at him, before bringing back her attention to the little girl. "It's _The Handmaid's Tale_ by Margaret Atwood. I'm reading it again because it's one of my favorite and I love rereading regularly all my favorite books," she explained. "Do you like reading?"

The girl - which in the meantime was completely ignoring the Doctor's presence – gave Clara a knowing, triumphant look. "Oh yes," she said, excitedly. "I _love_ reading."

Clara's smile widened. "Really? It's nice to find intelligent people who like to read. Those people are my favorite," she told the little girl, giving her a small wink. "What kind of books do you like?"

"People who read are the best," she agreed, nodding wholeheartedly. "I love _Harry Potter_. I never get sick of reading it."

Clara laughed and nodded, too, approvingly. "I know, _right_? What's your favor-"

"Yeah, well, why don't you go and find children your own age to talk about stuff," the Doctor said, interrupting Clara, "Go on, now. Toddle along."

And as he said that he made a gesture with his arms that clearly indicated she should leave. Both Clara and the little girl looked at him at the same time and gave him a menacing look. Then the girl looked back at Clara.

"Is that your daddy?" she asked, "He's _mean_."

The Doctor's mouth fell open, in shock. "What did you say, little pudding brain? _How dare you_-" he mumbled, through gritted teeth.

"Yes, he is mean," she said, raising her voice to cover what he was saying and giving him a very disapproving look, before adding, with a softer voice and slightly blushing: "And, no, he's not my daddy."

The little girl didn't look very convinced by her words, but she didn't say anything. "Well, I'll go anyway. Thank you, miss!"

She waved cheerfully at Clara, ignored the Doctor and eventually ran off to meet her parents.

"Bye," Clara waved back. "See you around."

Then, she turned to face the Doctor, raising an eyebrow in his direction. "_Really_?" she asked, sounding almost exasperated. Then she gestured her hand towards him. "Now give me my ice cream, before it melts completely."

The time traveler looked at his hands which were still holding the ice cream cones, and looked surprised to see them there. "They are melting, aren't they?"

Clara chuckled and he started laughing, too, as he lent her her ice cream and set down next to her.

* * *

"Are you sure?" The Doctor asked, with doubt resonating clear in his voice. "Are really, _really_, sure?"

Clara sighed deeply. "Yes," she said, trying to sound less exasperated as she possibly could. "I'm 100% positive, thank you."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "If you say so...", he said, not looking at her.

Clara felt anger boiling inside of her and struggled to contain it. "Why," she stressed, "Why on earth shouldn't I be sure?"

By the end her voice had raised in volume and the Doctor, sensing danger, shifted slightly away from Clara, as if expecting a blow from her at any moment. "I just didn't expect you to agree to watch _Mad Max: Fury Road_ with me."

"Why?"

"Well..." He started, looking at her with uncertainty. "For starters, you hardly ever agree with my suggestions -"

"That's really unfair and so not true!" Clara protested.

"- and also I didn't think you would want to see an action movie," he finished, ignoring her comment.

Before she could answer, they heard an impatient cough coming from behind them. They had been so caught up in conversation, they hadn't noticed that the queue was moving on without them. They filled the gap that separated them from the person before them in line, while Clara apologized to the annoyed people after them.

Then Clara suddenly turned in the Doctor's direction. "Is it because I'm a girl?" She asked, frowning.

The Doctor knew that this discussion was not going to turn out in his favor, but it was too late to back down now. "Well," he mumbled, trying to think of the best way to fix everything, but failing miserably to come up with any ideas. "I thought that maybe you'd rather see something else, like -"

He looked up at the list of movies they were showing at that cinema, as they took another step forward "- _Pitch Perfect 2_."

"First of all," Clara started, patiently. "Why did you suggest _Mad Max_ if you thought I wouldn't what to see it?"

The Doctor pondered on her question for a couple of seconds, shrugged, and finally looked at her, confused. Her eyes softened and she smiled at him, before continuing: "Second of all, women can appreciate these kind of movies just as much as men. You're a 2000 years old alien, you should know better than perpetuate these stupid, patriarchal, stereotypes."

Her last words made him blush, so he mumbled an embarrassed "I suppose you're right".

This concession made her smile with satisfaction. "Especially if you think about all we've been through. I've kind of been living the action movie life."

They both laughed at this, and they exchanged an amused grin.

"And finally," she continuing, getting another step closer to the end of the queue. There was just one person left before them. "I heard lots of positive comments about _Mad Max_, and, while I did enjoy the first _Pitch Perfect_, I'm against sequels as a principle. It's like my philosophy when it comes to movies."

"Oh yeah?" The Doctor said, hastily, "What about the second movies of the _Lords of the Rings_ trilogy? And -"

"There are some important exceptions," she admitted, interrupting him. "But we're not having this discussion again. You know full well what I meant."

He was about to reply something, when they found themselves facing the ticket man.

"Two tickets for _Mad Max: Fury Road_, please" Clara said hastily, before the Doctor could say anything, and then she beamed up at him, making the time lord's hearts melt in his chest.

"Sure," said the man on the other side of the glass, clicking away on his computer. "That will be 18 pounds please."

The Doctor looked at him, surprised. "But here it says it's 10 pounds for adults," he said, pointing at the list of price ticket pinned to the box office.

"Yes, but it's reduced to 8 pounds for people over sixty," the man said, gently.

"Oh no," the Doctor made a gesture of denial with his hands, as if to keep away flies. "I don't think Clara's there, yet."

After a moment of embarrassed silence, Clara lent closer to him so she could whisper in his ear: "He was probably talking about you."

"Me?" He said, raising his voice. "Why is it supposed to be me? Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?"

"Have you?" She said, and then she pointed to his head and whispered: "The grey hair. We talked about it, remember?"

The Doctor remained perfectly still for a second, before extracting something from his inside pocket and shoving it in front of the man's face. "Maybe you should ask for an identity card before judging whether I need reduction or not."

The man squinted his eyes to read the card presented to him and then muttered a confused apology, as he proceeded to sprint their tickets.

The Doctor then turned the psychic paper so he could read it. "57," he read, half surprised, half annoyed.

He dropped the money on the counter, grabbed the tickets and stormed off.

Clara stood there for a second with her mouth open, taken aback by his sudden, strange, behavior, before hurrying after him.

* * *

Clara was sitting in front of the mirrors in her bed room, apparently completely focused on putting on make up, but in reality her attention was absorbed elsewhere.

She was observing the Doctor. She had been observing him for the last few days. He had been acting weird. More than usually so.

"So" he said, "where are we going this evening?"

She gave him another quick glance. The Time Lord was casually leaning against his time machine, parked in its usual spot. He wasn't looking in her direction. She knew him well enough to know he wasn't in the room with her, that he was far away, lost in thoughts.

"_I'm_ going out with my friends," she said, as she finished putting on her mascara. "_You_ are not invited."

She put away down the bottle she was holding and lifted her head to beam at him. He was looking towards her but he didn't reciprocate the smile.

"Oh yeah, and why is that?" he asked. "Is it because I'm too old to go out with you?"

She immediately turned in her seat to face him. He hadn't moved but he was looking at her straight in her eyes. He had a stern expression and his lips were sealed tightly together. He had spoken calmly, but she could feel the repressed anger reverberating in every inch of his body.

"Do I look too old to hang out with your friends? Do I embarrass you?"

For a few moments, she stared at him with wide eyes, unable to remember how to put words in the right order in a coherent phrase. Then, before she could fully understand what she was doing, she stood up, so quickly the stool she was sitting on fell to the ground.

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. It was totally unlike him. Or was it? This regeneration still managed to confuse and surprise her. But still, she would never had guessed he could be so - insecure? - about these sort of things. She wondered if that had been the reason for his strange behavior during the last few days.

"No, of course not!" She quickly apologized, almost desperately. "It's an all girls' night out, that's all. Would you like to come? I mean - you could come! I just thought you wouldn't even want to-"

"No it's fine," the Doctor interrupted her, embarrassed. "Sorry, I just -"

But he didn't finish what he was saying and what followed was instead an awkward silence.

Clara gave him a tentative smile and, after a second of hesitation, he smiled back. This encouraged her, so she walked towards him, until they were more close than appropriate and then looked up at him.

"Don't worry about stuff like that. Please. I don't care," she spoke softly, almost whispering. "I see you."

This made him chuckle and he nodded, slowly.

* * *

"It's not as if I don't appreciate dad for moving nearby after Danny died," she was saying, pausing for a second at the painful memory, before continuing, "it's just that now I'm forced to see Linda every other day."

As she spoke, she pulled the trolley forwards in the isle of the supermarket looking right and left for items on her shopping list.

The Doctor was walking next to her with his hands in his pockets. He gave Clara a sidelong glance and then smiled quietly. He had managed to relax a bit about the grey hair, old looking issue, but it was still there, at the back of his mind, as if lurking and ready to attack at any moment.

His appearance - his new face - didn't bother him at all, but he had started to worry that it might bother Clara. He never really thought it might make her see him... Differently. Yes, he had told her himself that he wasn't her boyfriend, but that was because I wanted to protect her. Or whatever he had been thinking at the time.

And anyway so many things had happened since then. So many things had changed.

"I'm sorry you have to put up with her, too," Clara added, frowning.

"It's only been two or three times," he shrugged.

She suddenly stopped in her tracks and looked inquisitively at the shelf on her left, on the Doctor's side.

"Could you please get the cereals on the top shelf?" she asked, "The ones you like. I can't reach them. "

The Doctor stood on his tiptoes and reached for the box at the top. As he finally managed to grab it, he heard a frustrated moan coming from behind him.

"Speak of the devil," Clara muttered, before raising her voice to a high pitch tone and saying all to enthusiastically: "Linda!"

"Clara!" A voice reciprocated.

The Doctor turned towards the source of that voice and saw Linda marching towards them with her own trolley full of groceries.

"How good it is to see you," she said once she had reached them.

"Yeah," Clara nodded in an exaggeratedly pronounced manner. "How are you?"

"I'm fine. Just doing a little shopping," she said, stating the obvious. "Why don't you come to dinner one of these days?"

Clara gave her her best fake smile. "I don't know," she said, pretending to think about it. "I'm really busy, you know..."

"You are both invited of course," she told her, ignoring what Clara was saying and finally acknowledging the Doctor's presence.

There was a moment of silence, before Linda continued: "You know," she started. "Your father and I agree you make a wonderful couple."

It took a couple of seconds before the Doctor managed to understand what she was implying, and, once he did, his body stiffened.

"Of course, I knew you didn't like boy bands," she went on, "But honestly I thought you might have been better of with someone your own age."

She laughed. It was false, almost provocative laugh. "Or, you know, someone not twice you age, at least," she finished, still chuckling.

The Doctor's hearts started beating painfully in his chest, and all his blood rushed to his cheeks as he tried his best to avoid looking Clara in the eye. He wondered what made Lynda say such a thing - what had given her that impression anyway - but most of all he dreaded to know what Clara was thinking. He find it hard to accept the idea that Clara might consider Linda's assumption as absurd, as impossible, as totally out of the question, but he knew that was probably the only possible scenario, so he waited for her to dismiss Linda's words, to protest, to correct her and say they were nothing more than friends.

But his impossible girl managed to surprise him once again.

"Honestly," she said, with a calm voice. "I don't care what you think."

He turned to look at her, amazed. She smiled, before holding on to his shirt and dragging him into her and putting her lips on his.

He hesitated, but then tentatively put his arms around her and pulled her awkwardly closer.

The kiss was soft and slow and over all to quickly, as Clara ended the contact between them, but the Doctor felt it had lasted much longer than only a couple of seconds. She rested her hands on his chest and looked up at him. She had still that sweet smile on her face and the Doctor finally managed to smile back.

"I wouldn't care if he were 2000 years old," she told Linda, but without looking at her and keeping her eyes locked to the Doctor's.

"Well - I'm glad to hear that," Linda said, without real conviction. "I'll be going, then. It was nice to see you both."

The Doctor and Clara eventually broke apart, and Clara stared, satisfied, at Linda, as she pulled passed them. "Sure, take care," she waved, happily.

Then she took the Doctor's hand in hers and squeezed it. He squeezed it back and they grinned at each other.

"Why don't we get take out and stay in this evening?" She asked.

"Sounds perfect," he replied, softly, having felt a terrible weight had just been lifted off his shoulders.


	6. Time for Memories

_The TARDIS is being mischievous and switches Clara's room with one the Doctor uses to store old mementos Clara stumbles upon a strange book that turns out to be the Gallifreyian version of a family photo album (Think family photos similar to the "Gallifrey Falls No More" portrait.) The Doctor walks in as she's looking at it at first he's upset, but Clara somehow gets him to tell her about the people in the pictures. For the first time since he ended the Time War the Doctor really opens up and talks about his family back on Gallifrey. Just make something up, I'm craving some details about the Doctor's past_

* * *

_AllonsyIdjits: I tried my best, I don't know how it came out. It felt a bit of a blasphemy to make up details of the Doctor's past, so I actually remained as vague as I could. I hope you like it anyway. Sorry again for the long delay._

* * *

After the events of Trenzalore, Clara and the TARDIS had come to a sort of understanding. It was a silent agreement of reciprocal tolerance which had grown to what Clara might even describe as friendship. In fact, the TARDIS even let Clara fly her - under the Doctor's supervision of course. But, since they were both control freaks, it was also a competitive friendship. Every now and again the TARDIS felt the need to show Clara who's boss, and to do so she usually dislocated her bedroom.

One night, she was particularly exhausted so she wished goodnight to the Doctor and, when she opened the door to her room, she found an empty closet instead.

"Oh,_ come on_," she groaned.

She stormed through the corridors, bursting open every door and slamming every one of them shut when she saw they didn't lead to her bedroom.

"I hope this hurts," she shouted to the empty corridor. "How am I supposed to find my room? This ship is literally _infinite_!"

She rapped her arms around her torso and slowed down her pace. She turned a corner and found herself facing a new door. "If this isn't my bedroom,_ I swear_ I'll go and tell the Doctor," she told the TARDIS, feeling a bit childish, but desperate times called for extreme measures - and she was _so_ tired.

She took a deep breath and open the door. What she saw was, in fact, a bedroom - but it wasn't hers.

It was a very bare room, small and rectangular, made entirely out of wood, which might have even been bright and elegant once, but which now was just old. The only pieces of furniture were a bed attached to the wall, to Clara's left, and a wooden desk on the opposite corner of the room.

There was nothing special about the room per se, but what she saw on the desk was enough to catch her attention and drag her in.

She stepped inside and carefully closed the door behind her - without pulling it all the way but leaving it ajar. She moved closer to the desk, as if attracted by the object on top of it.

It was a book - big, golden and beautiful, with a Gallyfreyan inscription she couldn't yet read, despite all the lessons the Doctor tried to give her, and with some kind of glow that absolutely contrasted with the darkness of the room.

She realized what it was as soon as she opened it and it wasn't what she was expecting.

It was a family album.

She flicked quickly through the pages to make sure. The pictures inside were bright and heavy against the thin, white pages. There was something about those photographs which was, to Clara, both strange and familiar. She lifted up the album so it was at her eye level and tilted her head to one side.

"_3-D_," she whispered, without noticing the smile which had grown on her face.

Just like the painting, she thought, remembering _Gallifray Falls No More _as if it were yesterday.

She focused her attention on what the pictures were portraying. She had the time to see people of all ages, all of them looking somewhat solemn and powerful, but at the same time happy - it was obvious by their genuine smiles - before she heard footsteps coming towards her.

The noise startled her and the book she was holding slipped from her grasp and fell with a thud to the floor.

"Clara," she heard the Doctor's voice calling her. "Is that you?"

She hurriedly leaned down to collect the album and threw it on the desk, her heart pumping furiously in her chest. She had the clear feeling she had been doing something wrong, that she wasn't supposed to be there, but the ever approaching sound of footsteps told her she wouldn't be able to flee the room in time.

In fact, the door suddenly swung open and a second later she was facing the Doctor.

"Clara," he asked, startled. "What are you doing here?"

She slid carefully in front of the album, in a desperate attempt to hide it from him.

"Doctor," she smiled, trying to sound as calm and normal as she could possibly master. "Sorry, I came here by mistake. The TARDIS hid my bedroom again and so I-"

"Have you been looking through my photographs?" He demanded pointing in the general direction of the photo album. Clara realized he knew exactly what she had been trying to hide behind her back.

"Yes, I -" she started, searching for the right words. " - I saw it. I was curious to see what it was so I opened it."

She shifted from her spot, exposing the book to the Doctor. She hoped to make it so it wouldn't look like a big deal, but it was a weak hope, because the dismay in his voice told her it was.

"I didn't know what it was," she added. "I didn't even know they were your photographs."

"Just get out," he told her, through gritted teeth and looking at her menacingly.

"Oh come on Doctor," she tried to smile. "I'm sorry, really, but I didn't-"

"_Get out_," he growled, without letting her finish.

Clara opened her mouth to retort and then closed it again. She normally would have protested, argued right back at him, but this rage felt new to her. She bowed her head and fixed her eyes to her shoes, before passing quietly next to him and exiting the room.

She gradually quickened her pace as she walked down each new corridor she stumbled upon, without paying attention to where she was going. Her entire attention was focused on her feet, on the way they chased each other, step after step, until she suddenly found herself in the console room.

She wondered whether it was the TARDIS who was trying to make amends to her for the nasty trick she had played earlier.

Not knowing what to do, Clara made her way down the stairs and around the perimeter of the room, distractedly caressing the banisters along her way, and then she sat down on the steps that led to the area under the console. She rapped her arms around her knees and rested her head upon them.

She waited in that position, not knowing what she was waiting for exactly, maybe just for anything to happen.

The seconds passed slowly as they turned into minutes, and maybe hours as far as Clara was aware, before she heard once again the sound of footsteps coming towards her. She didn't look up when she heard them echo on the metal floor, nor did she look up when the Doctor sat next to her.

"I'm..." He started, tentatively.

She looked up at him, expectantly, but without interrupting him. He suddenly seemed very interested in his own hands.

"...sorry," he managed to finish.

He finally looked back at her and gave her an apologetic look.

She hesitated. "I'm sorry, too," she eventually told him. "I shouldn't have gone through your private stuff. I should have known better than that."

He shook his head. "Nah, you weren't doing anything wrong," he said. "I was just -"

But he didn't finish, apparently in loss of the proper words to explain, even to himself, what he was feeling.

Clara remained quiet and patiently waited for him to find them. Her mind flashed back to that moment, so long ago, when he had asked her whether she thought he was a good man. That memory made her smile internally.

"Those kind of memories are particularly painful, that's why I lashed out like that. Not because - I wasn't really angry at you."

"You could well have been," she argued, bewildered. "It's intimate. I didn't have any right -"

"I never told you there were places on the TARDIS where you couldn't go, things you couldn't do. That's because..." he paused, sighed and then smiled at her.

"That's because I've given up thinking that secrets keep us safe. When it comes to you, anyway. I just didn't want to hide anything from you, anymore," he continued, before looking down at his feet and adding: "even though I haven't told you everything, yet, I suppose."

Clara made an effort to hold back a smile, despite the feeling of butterflies in her chest. She had only then realized that their relationship might be special not only to her but also to him. She had never felt the need to compete with his previous companions, but she had always given for granted that he treated her the same as them. Yet, his words, in that moment, implied that all that sharing was new to him, and this made her heart melt in her chest.

"Are you talking about the people in the photo album?" She asked. "Was that your family on Gallifray?"

He nodded, then leaned back and she saw him grab something. She slightly turned her head in that direction to see what it was. She hadn't realized he had brought the album with him, when he had joined her in the console room. Silenced by the surprise, she observed him as he lifted it with one hand and brought it in front of him.

Clara had followed the entire movement with her big eyes opened wide, so, when he opened the album, she was once again face to face with those amazing, yet disturbing to the untrained eye, photographs.

She blinked at the sight and then gave him a questioning look.

"So," he started, seemingly confused as she was. "What do you want to know?"

Immediately, many questions, many unfulfilled curiosities, popped into her head, but she mentally pushed them aside, at least for the moment.

"You don't have to, you know. I don't need to know anything more than I already know. It's OK to have secrets - a private life. We don't have to share everything," she said, gently smiling at him.

His smiled back at her. "I want to do this."

She bit her bottom lip to stop her smile turning into an embarrassing grin. "OK," she said, slowly. "Who are these people then?"

The Doctor had a second of hesitation, but then he saw the deep trust she had reflected in her eyes, so he begin to talk about his parents, about how he had left them at a very young age to join the academy and become a Time Lord. He wondered reminiscently at the time spent with his siblings and showed her the friends he had when he lived in Gallifrey, some of whom he had stayed in touch with for a long time, until the Time War that is, and some others he had lost along the way much earlier.

"You were so cute as a Time Lord teenager," Clara teased him.

He frowned at her and she winked at him, so they both started laughing. "And who's this?" She asked pointing at a picture which showed a grinning boy with his arm rapped around a Doctor with stunningly young eyes.

A shadow crossed the Doctor's face. "Oh," he said, as though he wasn't expecting that question. "That's - that's the Master."

"Oh," she mimicked, involuntarily. She observed the young faces of the two young Time Lords. "He's so different. Gender aside, of course. I mean, his eyes-"

She left the phrase hang in midair, like an unwanted, heavy presence. The Doctor didn't say anything, and they both remained quiet for a while, until Clara broke the silence: "What happened with you two? I never really asked."

She could see the questioned troubled the Doctor, but when he finally replied he didn't sound angry. "It's a long story, one for another time," he said. "Lets just say we took different paths. We wanted different things. The same that always happens, really."

"Yeah, but not every person who takes different paths from us becomes a super villain," she laughed, but she knew better than to insist, so she changed the subject. "What about your first wife? Which one is she?"

The Doctor flicked a few pages, coming towards the end of the photo album. "There she is," he said, pointing at one of the pictures.

Clara leaned in to take a better look. She almost gasp. "Wow, she's beautiful," she admitted, truthfully.

"Yes, she was," he sighed.

Clara looked at him, curiously. "What happened to her?" She asked.

He paused to think for a moment, before giving her an answer. "Don't know for sure. Stuck in the last great Time War, I supposed. I hadn't heard from her for a very long time even before that, anyway," he confessed, with a point of guilt implied in his voice.

She automatically reached for his shoulder with her hand. She realized what she had done when it was too late, so she didn't retracted it, and instead gave him a sympathetic smile.

They staid in silence for while and then he said: "You remind me of her, you know."

This took Clara by surprise, so she just stared at him for a few seconds, before she spoke: "How?"

"Well," he started and Clara saw him blush. "She was bossy and stubborn, and a bit of a control freak, just like you -ouch!" He bellowed when she hit him on the arm.

She glared at him. He rubbed the sore spot on his arm and continued: "But she was also very intelligent and resourceful and kind."

"Oh," she said, again, feeling her cheek becoming hot and giving him a small, embarrassed, smile. "Then why - why did you..."

She suddenly realized she didn't have the words to formulate that sort of question, not if she wanted to be tactful, at least. Luckily, that clever man immediately picked up on what she was trying to say.

"You know," he shrugged. "We wanted different things. I couldn't stay still for her and she had...different priorities than me."

Clara nodded thoughtfully, and then moved closer to him. She rapped her arm under his own and rested her head upon his shoulder. As always, she felt his body stiffen in response, but he eventually relaxed against her.

He started telling her about about his life with her, and she wondered what it would be liked to be married to the Doctor and whether she would like it, whether it could ever work.

She listened to the Doctor as he told her about his children and his granddaughter Susan, up to the day he stole his TARDIS, helped by woman he had never seen before and had never seen since, even though she was weirdly familiar, now that he stopped to think about it...

Clara swallowed every word he shared eagerly, almost greedily, like fresh water on a very hot day. Every once in a while he paused and he looked at her and she smiled so widely her cheeks hurt, but she didn't care.

When the Doctor finished speaking, they both stared at the floor in silence, as if to take in everything that had been said and done that night. Then Clara rubbed his arm and said: "Thank you for telling me all of that."

"Honestly, it was my pleasure."

Clara chuckled. She freed her arm from under his and jump on her feet.

"Then it will be my pleasure to offer you some dinner," she gave him a cheeky look and offered him her hand to lift him.

He frowned at it and lifted himself up. "Well that's awfully nice of you," he replied, ironically, but with a joyful glee in his eyes. "What's the occasion?"

"You told me all about your past lives, now it's my turn," she said. "I have to tell you all about my past marriages and children and grandchildren..."

For a moment the Doctor seemed shocked. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. "But you never told me-"

Clara burst into laughter, and grabbed his hand. She squeezed it and this made him visibly relax. "You know, it should be morning for you now. I kept you up all night with my reminiscing, you should get some rest."

She shook her head. "You know what? I'm not tired anymore," she told him. "But we could compromise and have breakfast instead of dinner."

The Doctor grinned at her, before squeezing her hand in return. "Breakfast sounds just fine."


	7. A Duty of Care

_Dear strikingtwelve: I'm so sorry it took me so long. I had so many things going on, I just couldn't find the time and/or the strength to write anything. I hope you're find this and that you enjoy it._  
_To everyone else who has ever read and/or reviewed and/or liked what I've written: thank you. Especially to those who have taken the time to comment, I know you aren't that many, so I know I could have taken the time to reply. I'm sorry. Unfortunately, I'm a horrible procrastinator. From now on, I promise I'll be better. In any case, I just wanted to let you know that it's always appreciated._

* * *

_From strikingtwelve: could you do something super fluffy where Clara gets sick while on board the TARDIS and the Doctor takes care of her?_

_*emphasis on the fluff*_

* * *

"Clara," the Doctor yelled, with his arms crossed and his right foot stamping on the metal floor of the console room.

He checked again the wristwatch his companion had given him for his birthday and scoffed, impatiently.

"_Clara_!" He called again, even louder than before.

"Coming," a voice echoed from a nearby corridor.

"Finally!" He bellowed.

He listened to her footsteps approaching. "Hurry up," he insisted. "Those Daleks won't exterminate themselves- Clara what the hell are you wearing?"

His friend had just entered the room bundled up in a huge, white coat which covered most of her body, and with her arms tightly wrapped around her torso.

"It's just a _coat_," she retorted, annoyed, with a heavy nasal tone. "Why?"

"You look like a walking snowman. God knows we've had enough of those already," he answered, while busy scrutinizing her from head to toe. She had a red nose and watery eyes, and she was shaking. "But _why_ are you wearing it exactly?"

She sniffed loudly. "It's cold," she explained, as if it were obvious. She started jumping from one feet to the other, trying to heat herself up.

"No it's not," he argued, bewildered. "It's quite warm, actually. Is everything alright-"

But his words were swallowed by Clara, who had started sneezing. It went on for a while and, when it finally ended, Clara seemed worn out. "I'll just...Sit down for a moment. If...If you don't mind," she told him, in between ragged breaths and sniffes. She slowly made her way back to the closest set of stairs and sat down. By her groan and heavy breathing, it looked like that simple movement had required from her quite some effort. Then, she leaned her head to the side and rested it on the banister, before closing her eyes.

This alarmed the Doctor, who sprinted forwards and started shaking her. "Clara! Clara!" He shouted.

She tiredly lifted her eyelids and gave him a exasperated look. "Get off me," she protested, trying to free herself from his grip.

He immediately let go of her, but remained at an inch from her face, squinting and scrutinizing her.

"What do you want?" She asked, frowning at him.

Suddenly, she sneezed. Taken by surprise, the Doctor retreated and almost fell back. He looked at her in shock as she sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

"Oh my Time Lord!" he cried out. "Clara!"

He jumped forward and placed his hands back on her shoulder and started shaking her again. "What's the matter? Are you OK?" He shouted, desperately. "Are you _dying_?"

Clara rolled her eyes and groaned. Every shook came with a migraine, and this made it harder for her to make him stop, but when she finally managed to yell at him to leave her alone, she gasped for air and buried her head in her hands.

"_Have you gone mad_? Are you the Doctor or not? I've obviously got the flu."

The Doctor seemed to ponder on her words for a moment. He didn't seem entirely convinced and gave her another inquisitive look. "Are you sure?" He asked, distrustfully.

"_Yes_. I've had the flu before. I know what I'm talking about," she replied, dryly. "Contrarily to someone else in here..."

"What did you say?" He snapped.

"Nothing," she said, hastily.

The Doctor took a step back and kept looking at her wih a doubtful expression. His eyes examined every inch of her body, making her feel uncomfortably self-conscious. He extracted his sonic screwdriver from one of his pockets and used it to scan her. Then, he brought it closer to his eyes and read the results of his inquisition. He eventually shrugged and put back the screwdriver into an inside pocket of his jacket.

"Well, that's boring," he simply stated. "We should move on, then" and he made his way to the door of the TARDIS.

Clara looked at him in disbelief. She rolled her eyes and sighed, before gathering all her strength to help her stand up, but the movement hit her like a dagger.

"_Ouch_," she mumbled, automatically reaching for her forehead with her hand.

This made the Doctor turn towards her. He had risen one eyebrow, but at the same time she could detect a certain concern.

"I don't think I can make it this time, Doctor," she admitted, before telling him, not without feeling a stab to her ego, "You should go on without me."

He blinked, but didn't say a word. Instead, he crossed the room and, to Clara's astonishment, he picked her up in his arms in one, smooth movement, so unlike someone she was used to seeing running around like a drunk penguin.

The surprise made Clara yelp, and she held onto him tightly, clinging to him as if to dear life. She looked up and met the Doctor's eyes, which were much closer to hers than she was expecting them to be. This made her blush and her eyes darted automatically to his lips.

She felt her nose itching and she managed to turn her head away just in time to cover the sneeze with one hand. She turned back to look at the Doctor and found him grinning.

"Bless you."

"Thanks," she whispered. She felt her cheeks burn up and she wasn't sure if it was because of the fever, or the blushing, or both. She felt strangely vulnerable, and, for once, she thought she didn't mind.

"And by the way, that's never gonna happen," he said, still smiling.

"What is never gonna happen?" She asked, her big, and now confused, eyes still locked onto his.

"Me, going without you," he answered, with a tone that told her he was just stating he obvious.

Her lips curled into a wide smile. "Oh," she managed to murmur. "That's - unexpectedly sweet."

"It's more practical than anything, really," he said, matter-of-factly. "You're too valuable for the mission to leave you behind."

"That's a funny way to say you need me," she laughed, flicking his nose and getting a glare from him. "Very – soldier-y. I'm flattered, by the way."

"Don't be," he said, coldly. "I might let you fall."

"Hey, I'm ill!" She protested. "But what about the Daleks?"

He shrugged. "I have a time machine. They can wait."

This made her raise an eyebrow. "Then why did you rush me before?" she complained, incredulous.

"I was just bored," he said, before carrying her to her bedroom.

* * *

Clara was at her taekwondo class with year seven, following the teacher's instructions.

"It's hot in here," she realized. "Why is this lesson even taking place? It's summer! It's too hot for this!"

In fact, it was so hot, she found it hard to breath. Every inch of her body was burning. She asked for some water, but everyone ignored her. Feeling dehydrated, she stumbled away, looking desperate for water, for anything to help her cool down. The air was suffocating, and she would have done anything for some relief. If only -

Clara gasped for air as she woke up from her dream, but the overwhelming feeling of heat was still there. She immediately shoved the blankets aside. Her breathing was heavy and the feeling of suffocating was oppressing.

Suddenly she felt a movement right next to her that startled her.

"Clara, are you all right?"

The Doctor, who was sitting on an armchair close to her, put down his e-book reader and took off his glasses. He then leaned forward and looked at her attentively.

"Yes," she answered, promptly. "I mean - not really. I feel like I'm boiling. Like, literally."

The Doctor stood up.

"I'll be right back," he said seriously, before turning his back to her and rushing out of the bedroom.

Clara listened to his footsteps echo across the corridors outside of her room, until the sound faded into silence. She then turned to her left and switched on the light on her bedside table. Probably, she though, reading from an e-book reader with an illuminated screen, without any other light on, wasn't as bad for a Time Lord's eyes as it was for humans', but still.

Accustomed to darkness, the sudden light that flooded the room caught her unprepared. She squinted and covered her eyes with her right arm. By the time the Doctor came back, though, her eyes had already adjusted, and his appearance felt, to her, like a sight for sore eyes.

He came into the room carrying a glass of water in one hand and another bottle of water and a small towel in the other.

"Take these," he said, holding out the glass of water for her and two blue pills.

"What are they?" she asked him, suspiciously.

"They're aspirins," he said. "They're just... from a different time then yours. They were developed in a moment a bit in the future for you. Oh, and they're Martian."

Clara smiled nervously, but she took them anyway. She swallowed the two pills and then gulped the water down her throat in one go.

"More water," she pleaded, lending him her glass. He hastily opened the bottle he was holding and refilled it for her. She brought it to her lips and drank – slowly this time, with her eyes shut, savoring every last, refreshing drop of water. Once she had finished, she sighed loudly, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and then put down the glass.

She slid down on her back and sighed again, this time looking at the Doctor.

"Better?" He asked.

She smiled and nodded. Then, she frowned and pointed at the towel the Doctor was still holding in his hand. "What's that?"

He glanced down and looked surprised to see it there, as if he had forgotten he had it. "Oh yes," he said. "This is for you. Ehm-"

He leaned forward and placed the towel on her forehead. An "Oh," escaped her mouth when she felt an unexpected coolness meet her forehead and realised the towel was wet.

"-there," he finished, leaning back again. He pressed his fists to his hips and admired his work like an artist in front of his best painting. "What do you think?"

Her hands automatically reached for the towel and rested them on it. She released a blissful sigh. "That was _such_ a great idea. I almost feel like a normal-temperature human being again."

Suddenly the Doctor came closer to her and rested his hands on her cheeks. "It won't last long. You're so hot, you'll heat up the towel in just a couple of minutes." As if only just aware of what he was doing, he immediately retracted his hands from her face and they both fell silent.

"I'll enjoy it while it lasts," Clara eventually said, nervously. "The aspirins'll kick in soon, anyway."

The Doctor just gave her a small smile and didn't say anything.

* * *

Clara opened her eyes to the bright light of her lamp and with the realisation she had fallen asleep in mid conversation. Her eyes moved and fixed on the Doctor. He was still reading from his kindle. Considering that his attention span could be the same one of a ten year old's at the best of times, seeing him still so focused on a book amazed her. He hadn't noticed she had woken up and she put no effort into letting him know that she had. He didn't notice even when she moved on her side and started observing him with her hands tucked between her cheek and her pillows and a smile on her lips.

"What are you reading?" She eventually asked, after a few minutes of silent contemplation.

Her words seemed to startle him. "Ehm," he hesitated. He looked like someone who had just woken up and needed some time to adjust back to reality.

"_The Dispossessed_," he finally managed to utter, with the same embarrassed tone of someone caught red-handed. Clara positively beamed at this and slightly lifted herself up.

"So you _did_ listen to my suggestion!"

The Doctor didn't reply and just gave her a stern look, with his lips pressed together in a straight line.

"I still can't believe you've read so little science fiction," she filled the silence for him.

To these words, the Doctor put slowly down his kindle and crossed his arms. "It should hardly surprise you. Most of what those books say is total rubbish!"

Clara raised an eyebrow. "_You're_ total rubbish."

"And you're being childish."

"Says the man who almost got Amyntha destroyed, the other day, just because he couldn't resist a bet with a bloody pirate."

They glared at each other for a moment, before both bursting into laughter.

"I just think that these people who write science fiction are idiots because they think they can predict the future and they get everything absolutely wrong!" He told her, frankly.

"Of course they don't predict the future!" Clara laughed, amused.

"See? You said it yourself!" He exclaimed. "I told you, _idiots_!"

The woman in bed chuckled. "No, I meant - they aren't trying to predict the future. That's not the point of science fiction."

The Time Lord frowned, seemingly unconvinced. "What's the point then?"

Before answering, Clara, starting to feel uncomfortable, shifted to a more comfortable, sitting position. She rubbed her aching neck with both her hands and then positioned her cushions vertically, so she could rest her back against them.

"Well, first of all, it's supposed to be entertaining. I mean, it is _fiction_, after all. Most stories are inventions anyway, these just happen to be a little less...realistic."

"Yes, but all of these mistakes are really distracting," the Doctor snapped.

Clara ignored his interruption and continued: "But, mostly, what I like about sci-fi is that you can talk about the future, create new worlds and parallel realities, and still say an awful lot about us, about contemporary society and its problems. Ray Bradbury said something like that, too, I don't remember the exact quote, though."

The Doctor seemed to ponder on her words.

"It makes sense, I suppose," he said, thoughtfully.

"Of course it does," she said, indignantly, yet, with a hint of pride in her voice. She _loved_ it when he agreed so easily with her.

"If that is so, It seems that I have wasted an awful lot of time for all the wrong reasons, doesn't it?"

"And this seems like deja-vu," she said, without thinking

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," she started, slowly, looking for the right words to express what she was thinking. "I mean that it's not the first time you've said something like that -"

She paused, because she felt the irritation build from the pit of her stomach, as if she was only then realising what she, herself, meant.

"- You're probably the only person who can be allowed to waist time," she blurted.

It almost came out as a whine, and she felt ashamed. She hadn't intended to come across as a spoiled child, complaining about something she couldn't have. It was just that... she just hated being reminded of her own mortality.

She looked at him with serious eyes. His mighty eyebrows were risen, giving him a surprised expression. He was taken aback by her words and she guessed he didn't like to be reminded of her mortality either.

"And you don't waist time, anyway," she continued. She still felt disappointed longing and irritation churn inside of her, but she had her voice more under control. "You save entire civilizations on a daily basis, I think you can afford to catch up on sci-fi novels a little late."

_Not that it matters, _she thought to herself,_ who needs science fiction when you are already living the sci-fi life?_, but she didn't say it out loud. That was hardly the point she was trying to make.

"I would like to have all the time you have to waste."

"I don't think you would," he said quietly. "It's not easy to appreciate life when you have so many days to fill, when you've already done so much, seen so much. And this makes life unbearable. Trust me, I would know."

He sighed, before continuing. "That's why I learned to seize every moment. It helps me to remain true to myself – or to whom I'm trying to live up to, anyway. The Doctor, that is. I'm not that man, but remembering how much every moment counts helps me to live up to the promise I made to myself. I become dangerous when I forget."

He paused, thoughtfully. "And anyway," he went on, sadly. "I might last, but not so everything that truly matters – that truly matters to me. So I don't get to waist time either."

She bit her lip and swallowed. "Maybe. But you don't get to decide what's better for me. And I know that I don't ever want to stop running. With you."

She tried to keep her voice firm, but, when she spoke, she felt it waver.

"_Why can't I be like you?_"

Clara saw the Doctor's eyes soften around the edges and he gave her a sad smile. "You're more like me than I would have thought possible for anyone."

His tone wasn't reproachful, but if she had been searching for pride in his voice she would have been out for some bitter disappointment.

"But," and, as he continued, his voice turned back to normal - so warm and Scottish -, "I will make every moment count for you, I promise."

Her heart skipped a beat and she smiled. "You're already doing a good job, trust me."

He mirrored her smile and his eyes shined. He reached out for her cheek and caressed it gently with his thumb.

"You're hot again," he noticed. "I should go and get some more medicine. Maybe make you something to eat, you haven't eaten in a while."

"No, stay," she said, immediately. "Later. I know it's silly, but..." She took a deep breath, as if for courage. "- I would rather if you read to me. You know, what you were reading before. I feel like it would make me feel better. Does this make any sense?"

The Doctor shook his head, amused. "No. That's probably the fever talking. You're delirious."

But he didn't move and, instead, reached for his e-book reader. He switched it on and started reading.

As she listened to him, she felt a shiver follow the length of her spine. She slid even further under the covers and curled up with her arms embracing her knees.

Her eyes fell closed before even realising how tired she was. All that talking had strained her. She yawned an impossibly big yawn and fell asleep, lulled by the Doctor's comforting voice.

"Come on, _quick_!" Clara yelled. Her voice seemed almost back to normal, now, and her throat didn't hurt every time she spoke a bit louder than a whisper.

"It's starting," she urged, again.

She heard a groan coming from just outside the door of her bedroom.

"It's Netflix, Clara," the Doctor lamented, as he came in, holding a seemingly heavy tray. "You know we can start and stop it whenever we like, right?"

"Yes," she said, innocently. "I just wanted you to hurry up."

"Why?"

"Because I missed you," she teased him.

He blushed. "That's -", and he attempted to say something, but only inarticulate sounds came out of his mouth.

She laughed. She loved seeing him embarrassed and uncomfortable.

"Don't flatter yourself too much," she grinned. "I was only joking."

She said that even though it wasn't true. She _did_ miss his company. When he left her alone, to cook or to fetch something for her, or whatever, it felt as if he'd take all the warmth out of the room with him. She was glad he was back.

He frowned at her, and then leaned forward to lay the tray on her lap. She felt the part of her legs which had come in contact with the metal tray warm up. It was a very pleasant sensation, to say the least. She looked down and saw a foaming bowl of soup. Nothing special, but it smelt warm and delicious.

"I was just hungry and eager to start _Jessica Jones_. By the way, thank you for cooking for me," she said.

"It was my pleasure," he smiled back at her. "It's nice to see you with an appetite. It means you're better now. Everyday you're not well seems unbearably long."

It was her turn to blush, now.

_I don't need you to take care of me, I don't need you to take care of me, I don't need you to take care of me_, she repeated silently in her head. Yes, she didn't need him to take care of her. But it was in moments like these that she liked to let him.

Clara's eyes flattered open, while the rest of her begged her to go back to sleep. It's funny how this can happen, no matter how tired we are. Do are eyes know something we don't? In the silence of the night - was it though? It was dark, but the TARDIS, most ironically, always made her lose all sense of time - they focused on the Doctor. In her state of drowsiness, she wasn't surprised to find him still there. In those few days he had never left her side, if not to fetch her food or medicine. And as she drifted back to sleep, Clara found herself wishing he never would.

"Are you sure you're ready?"

"I'm sure."

"So you're definitely better? Please don't lie."

"Definitely better," she echoed. "I promise."

She laughed quietly as she finished dressing up. Fresh, clean clothes on a freshly clean body - she felt alive again. She'd been yearning for a shower for days, and now that she finally had had the chance to take one, at the cost of sounding melodramatic, it felt as if she'd come back from the dead.

Not that those days had been terrible, on the contrary. But she missed the adventure, and the anticipation of it gave her energy.

"So, are you ready to go fight some Daleks?" She asked, eagerly, as she finally came out of her room.

"I could ask you the same question," he said, grumpily.

"You already did," she groaned. "_Several times._" Then something occurred to her and she looked at him suspiciously.

"You haven't already started without me, have you?" She asked, worried.

He smiled. "Without you?" He asked, amused. "_Never_."

She smiled back at him. The Doctor was looking at her with the same adoration he had worn those last few days – no matter how terrible she must have looked, all sick and messy. The same adoration she had pretended not to notice, but, _wow_, did it make every inch of her smile.


End file.
